


calm before the storm

by days4daisy



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Extra Treat, F/M, Getting Together, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: They don’t have much time before Monarch comes calling, and the open road awaits.
Relationships: James Conrad/Mason Weaver
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



Mason spots him before he sees her. He steps out from the Arrival doors with a travel knapsack slung over his shoulders. It’s not a surprise that Conrad doesn’t have much luggage. SAS vets are like the Army guys she’s been around, for all their faults one thing they’re great at is traveling light.

It’s a warm day at the airport. Conrad’s sunglasses reflect the cabs and other cars making up the Arrival line. His gray t-shirt would seem like a cheap eye grab if it was on a guy with a different personality. Conrad’s pants fit close too, and it’s no surprise that Mason’s fingers twitch when she sees him. Business is how things should stay between them. Especially with their new partnership with the reinvigorated Monarch.

But when Mason sees him, they’re back on Skull Island. Dripping wet, heart in her throat, fear and awe unlike anything she’s ever experienced in her life. Conrad’s arms were around her. He looked as scared as she felt, and as fascinated.

Kong looked at them. They looked at him.

Then, Mason’s arms were tight around his shoulders. She let herself be held, knowing Conrad would do nothing more than that. She was safe. He was safe. Now, surrounded by the bustle of airport traffic, not a dot of dirt or sweat on him, Conrad still looks safe. Which must be a good thing given how much time they’re going to be spending together in their new roles.

Definitely a good thing, because when Conrad finally spots her he smiles. A big, honest smile that crinkles the corners of his thin lips. Mason smiles in return and crooks a finger to call him over.

“So,” Mason greets, “they put a tail on you?”

“Naturally,” Conrad says. He shoots a casual look over his shoulder. “Inside the doors, I think. They had him sitting two rows back. Pretty sloppy, I must say. Unless they want us to know they’re keeping an eye on us.”

Mason shrugs. “We’ll give them a good tour then. Speaking of, give any thought to the downtime plans? Things you want to see or do?”

Conrad pretends to mull it over, complete with a cartoonish roll of his eyes upward. “I’ve decided I’m more than happy to follow your lead on this one, Weaver,” he says. “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll find something even you haven’t seen before.”

“You’re assuming I want adventures on my downtime before whatever Monarch’s tossing us in next.” Mason raises a brow.

Conrad smiles back. “Don’t you?” Something about the way he asks makes the tips of her fingers tingle.

Mason’s exaggerated sigh reflects off his sunglasses. “I’ll humor you, I guess,” she says. “Come on.” She taps the roof of her sky blue Ford. “Toss that in the back and we’ll hit the road.”

Taking her lead, Conrad swings his knapsack off his shoulders. “Want me to drive?” he asks. He sets his bag next to her snap up suitcase in the back seat.

Mason dangles the keys in front of him and grins. “Hell no,” she replies. His chuckle follows her as she strolls around to claim her place behind the wheel.

***

It's a relief to find that they don’t need prehistoric monsters at every turn to have things to talk about. Within a minute of pulling out to the highway, they’re locked in conversation.

Conrad broke off his lease with his little hovel in Saigon. He smiles when Mason asks if the backpack has everything left that he owns in it but doesn’t answer yea or nay. Where he plans to plant roots next is still a mystery. It may depend on where their latest adventures with Monarch take them. Could be that settling down anywhere is a stretch. “You can stay with me until you figure it out,” Mason offers. Conrad agrees, but with the contingency that it doesn’t put her out.

“Hey, I didn’t say I’d let you stay for free,” Mason says, laughing. “The extra cash wouldn’t hurt, I can’t lie.”

“And here I thought Pulitzer photographers didn't hurt for money,” Conrad counters.

He’s teasing her, but Mason turns thoughtful all the same. “Impressions are a bitch, aren’t they?” She tells him all her latest since the Skull Island expedition. Monarch’s seizure of her expedition film left her with a debt and no product to exchange. And the war is over. Good for America, but a war photographer has as much revenue potential as a soldier transitioning back to a 9 to 5.

Mason has been working freelance local jobs waiting for the Monarch assignment. For a photographer of her skill and reputation, the money has been decent. But the gigs haven’t been steady, and someone else paying towards the rent on her apartment wouldn’t hurt. “At least until we start rolling in that Monarch money,” Mason says. “Who knows, maybe I’ll settle. Finally go in on a white picket fence and a mortgage?”

“I don’t know,” Conrad muses, “I can’t see you settling for anything.” He’s smiling when he says it, and it surprises Mason that her only reaction is to laugh at the tease.

It’s a warm day, but the air in the car broke down weeks ago, so they drive with the windows rolled down. Conrad doesn’t seem to mind. After being in airports and planes for so long, he seems happy to have the sun and fresh air on his face. She catches his fingers drumming the car door.

Twenty minutes in, Conrad pulls the fold-up road map from Mason’s glove box. He opens it across his thighs as if he means to navigate. But his decisions seem to happen without consulting the map whatsoever. He laughs when he catches her skeptical look. “In case we have to get ourselves out of trouble,” he explains, tapping fingers over the spread page.

They wind up going south, where the traffic is less condensed. Mason relishes the chance to push the Ford to a higher speed, the growl of its engine like music to her ears. She’s always liked driving. Mason doesn’t have the shop skills of Slivko, but she used to get under the hood frequently with her dad. He taught her to appreciate the purr of a healthy engine and all the mechanic basics. They came in handy when faced with the impossible seeming task of fixing up Marlow’s boat.

Sweat glistens on Mason’s skin, but the rush of the wind from the open windows feels good. Her hair blows back from her face, and she catches herself reaching for the radio dial. She laughs when Elton John floods the car. “Nice,” Mason says. “Fitting.”

“I’m sure my arrival in America is a big rival for the Beatles,” Conrad tells her.

He undoes his seatbelt and stretches for his knapsack in the back seat. When he bridges, his t-shirt drifts up to mid-navel. Watching the road is important for safety and what not, but Mason still glances while he isn’t looking. The soft dusting of hair on his belly has her dragging her teeth across her gloss-softened bottom lip.

For a second, they’re in the water again, and Conrad’s hands are the only thing stopping Mason from shaking out of her skin. She’s never felt more small or scared, and she never wants to again.

Conrad resituations himself with a manilla folder that he opens on top of the useless map. “Oh god,” Mason says when she recognizes it.

“I take it you’ve read through this too,” Conrad remarks. There are documents inside; strict typewriter font and black and white photographs. Some are drawings or other artifacts - hieroglyphs, pottery, tributes stretching back centuries. Others are true snapshots of creatures Mason would balk at if not for recent life experience. If Kong and Skullcrawlers exist, why not giant moths or three-headed dragons?

“It all seems like a myth,” Mason says, serious gaze on the road. “I hope so anyway.”

“Did you hear what they’re calling this one?” Conrad lifts a photograph of a cave etching. It’s the one Mason studied the most too. A gigantic lizard that stands on two legs with spikes along its spine like a stegosaurus.

“Oh yeah, that’s my favorite,” Mason tells him. “Godzilla. The alpha. As if anything can be more alpha than Kong.”

“I presume they haven’t met yet,” Conrad mumbles. He sounds sarcastic, but it’s hard to ignore the sober grain to his voice. “Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

“Lovely isn’t what I call any of this.” Mason sighs, fingers drumming the wheel. “I get that this is important. How can you not after...everything? But you saw how unprepared Monarch was for what we walked into on Skull Island. And that was with Randa overseeing everything.”

“Randa was an idealist,” Conrad says. “I don’t disagree with you, but how do you prepare? How do any of us prepare?” He turns towards her, the folder and papers rustling in his lap. “Is this what you want, Weaver?” he asks.

Mason wants to say no. She had a good life before Skull Island. Mason was good at her job, she earned recognition for it, and she got to play a small part in changing the world. Telling stories and hard truths through images. And doing so as a woman who still got mistaken for a man because of her name before people ever met her in person.

Documenting what’s out there for Monarch would be important work too. As world changing, if not more so. But it would be different. It would be dangerous, always. It would be hard living conditions, and if she made it back home there would be no fame or fortune waiting for her. Mason might be changing the world, but no one but her immediate team would know about it.

But when she thinks of splitting off and letting Conrad go on without her, she doesn’t like it. Mason smirks and glances at him. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get rid of me already.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Conrad tells her. He points up ahead. “You should take the next exit, for the state highway.”

“Why?” Mason asks.

Conrad smiles. “Why not?”

Mason huffs at the answer, but she still veers off to the exit on the right. Skull Island taught her many lessons. One of those is trust the tracker, he’ll point you in the right direction.

***

As the sun begins to set, trees have given way to an open horizon line. It’s a nice view for the blue sky to become a succession of reds and oranges. The colors reflect off the Ford’s dash and makes her hands look like spun gold.

Conrad has been asleep in the passenger seat for the past thirty minutes. He struggled with it for a while, pinched his eyes under his aviators and shook the drowsiness away. But now, Conrad’s head lulls towards his chest and his sunglasses start to drift down the bridge of his nose. It’s silly and endearing, and she likes how soft his face looks, so different from his usual.

As the yellows and reds of the sky give way to purple and blue, Mason starts looking for motel signs. She could drive a while longer, but hunger is clawing at her stomach, and she wouldn’t mind a chance to stretch her legs.

The town they end up in is Claritaville. A painting of the woman it's named after stands in front of the motel Mason pulls up into. Red braided pigtails and a white cowboy hat, seems about right. The motel itself is nothing to write home about but seems clean enough from the outside. It’s a two-level all painted white. There are around ten other cars in the parking lot, which seems like a good bet. Not too full, not too empty.

Mason is shifting the car into Park when Conrad’s eyes blink open. He looks confused for a second, less so after he plucks the sunglasses off his nose with an annoyed pinch. “Sorry,” he says, looking around. “This where we’re staying?”

“Unless we hit the check in desk and there are roaches all over the walls,” Mason says. “Looks decent enough.”

“Works for me, in that case.” Conrad’s mouth twitches. “Hypothetical roaches aside.”

The check in lobby is about as basic as one would expect from a motel in Claritaville. It’s a single room with rusty red floor tiles and a large wooden check in desk. Not a single roach that Mason can see.

There’s a man at the counter, heavy set with long graying hair tied back in a low ponytail. He pushes rectangular glasses up his nose and looks up at them. “$50 for the night,” he says in a monotone.

“Two beds?” Conrad adds. He looks at Mason. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

She shrugs. “Cheaper.” Among other reasons.

Conrad pays cash without asking first. He waves off her attempt to pull out her wallet. “Get the first round,” he suggests. It’s a compromise she can definitely live with.

Their room is on the second floor - B108, about halfway down the hall. The railing overlooking the parking lot looks recently painted but off-center. Not exactly something Mason would lean against unless her life depended on it. They bring their bags up and stop in long enough to drop them off. As promised, the room has two full-sized beds dressed in tacky grandma-floral bedspreads. The walls are a dull peach, and there are a few scratches on the wooden nightstand and dresser. Still, the space looks clean enough. No noticeable stains on the carpet or issues with the bathroom, and Mason can’t see signs of any bugs.

She tosses her windblown hair up with a tie. They passed a bar within walking distance on the way in, and Mason leads the way down the sidewalk. It boasts an awful neon sign with cowboy boots kicking up and back. “My kind of place,” Conrad remarks as they make their way up the gravel lot to the steps leading into the dive.

It’s what Mason hoped for inside. A country dive with a decent enough crowd but not bustling so much that they have trouble finding seats. They pull up two stools at the bar, and Mason covers the cost of two drafts. There is a lively pool game going on, the most recent shot causing shouts to erupt from their corner of the bar.

“Darts are free,” Conrad notes once he catches her looking around.

They meander over that way. Mason could laugh at the absurdity of it. A few months ago, she was a famed war photographer on a mystery expedition to an uncharted island. Now, she’s tossing darts with discharged SAS, a calm before their next monster tracking storm.

The craziest part? She doesn’t mind it. Mason is scared, sure. She has no idea what to expect. Even when she got access to war zones, she became used to some of the sights and sounds. Sometimes it surprised her how easy it became to see human atrocities and still sleep at the end of the night.

This is different. This is living things older than she can fathom. Life at a scale that she would have thought wiped out long ago. Creatures that everyday people could not process even with one hundred reels of Mason’s film.

But this work is important, even if no one knows her name for it. Even if she’s scared. Even if she has no idea how it’ll end.

“I’m warning you,” Mason tells Conrad. “I’m not one of those girls who pretends to not know what she’s doing to look cute.” She plucks the darts off the board with a practiced hand.

Conrad laughs at the idea. “I’m not sure I’d want in if you were,” he says. It’s the right thing to say, but it’s sincere too. Conrad is good at sincere and direct, two qualities Mason appreciates. And he looks good downing a beer, the casual swig of the bottle neck upward, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow.

Mason beats him handedly. “You let me win,” she accuses.

“Loser buys this round,” Conrad says, returning to the bar. Over his shoulder, he smiles. “Best two out of three?”

“I guess I can give you a shot,” Mason says.

Conrad sets a wounded hand on his chest. “Appreciated,” he says. “Truly, it means a lot.”

***

Mason wins two out of three. The third round she plays loose because she’s enjoying her beer and hot, crispy french fries.

Once the pool table vacates, Mason learns fast that Conrad has her bested on this platform. He clears tables with ease, not taking it at all easy - which Mason appreciates. She laughs over stories of Conrad meeting Randa and Brooks for the first time. It was right after he clocked some guy in the face with a pool ball.

A second basket of fries replaces the first along with a round of meatballs and a personal size pizza. The pizza’s alright, but the meatballs are perfect. While Conrad clears another pool round, Mason admits defeat while enjoying the food.

It’s a good night. No, a great night. Mason is laughing more than she has in a long time. It’s like a knot fixed between her shoulders since she returned to the states loosens. There’s comfort in being with someone who has seen all the same crazy. Someone as insane as her about to do it all again.

They both go for the last fry and wind up with a truce of a split down the middle. Mason massages Conrad’s shoulders when onlookers challenge his pool skills. The bets are simple, twenty bucks max. Conrad wins, but uses the winnings to buy everyone another round.

Last call, and the air is cooler outside once they make their way back out to the gravel lot. The stars look huge even with the neon kicking boots casting its light between them and the sky. Mason wonders if around the world, in a few hours Kong will be looking up at this same sky.

Conrad feels warm against Mason’s side. They’re walking close together without meaning to. A piece of gravel sends Mason one way, another sends Conrad into her. They’re talking pool when they reach the sidewalk, which turns into sports in general. Popular games in Britain versus the US. They return to darts, and turn to bowling, then golf. Conrad has memories of his dad taking him to football games when he was younger. “Not your football,” he’s quick to clarify.

“Not the good kind,” Mason jokes.

She has memories to share too, baseball games with her dad, and how that turned into her playing softball.

By the time they reach the room, they’re discussing plans for tomorrow. What time will they hit the road? Do they want to stop at the diner up past the bar or drive for a little bit and find something on the way? Conrad offers to drive. Mason says she’s up for it, but Conrad says he will all the same - it’s only fair after she drove all this way. The stairs creak as they make their way up to the second level. Most of the lights are off, save one or two glowing behind shut curtains.

B108 is dark when they make their way inside. Mason gropes around for a lamp as Conrad locks the door. The lamp doesn’t have a great bulb in it, the room is still cast in shadows save for a dim yellow glow. She feels the difference inside as soon as the door shuts. Close as they walked side-by-side on the way back, they feel closer now, separated only by stale motel air.

Conrad leads against the shut door, long and strong under his clothes. She remembers how they stuck to him as he helped her up from the water. It was the last thing Mason should have been thinking about at the moment. But she needed something to steady herself. What she had was the outline of Conrad’s body through his t-shirt, water running in rivulets down his arms.

“Look,” Mason says, because she’s never been one to beat around the bush. She should know better, especially when there’s a working relationship to think about. And when it’s after-hours for the check-in desk and they only have one bedroom. But when she has something on her mind, she says it. Happy answer or not, when Mason wants to know something, she’s better off knowing it so she can go on with her life. “I guess we should-”

Before Mason can get the words out, she’s in Conrad’s arms. Her mind flashes back, terror and wonder at once, shaking so hard she struggled to breathe. Mason feels Conrad’s chest moving against hers, the deep inhale and exhale steadying her own. Now, Mason feels him too, palms cupping her cheeks as he leans in to kiss her. Conrad leaves a respectful amount of space between them. Mason appreciates the gesture but doesn't need it. She crowds into him, arms around his waist and urging him forward with hands flat against his back. He takes the invitation, taller and stronger but bowing over her, fitting his body to hers.

“If you were going to say ‘talk,’” Conrad says, “I can admit that’s never been a strong suit of mine.”

“I got the answer I wanted,” Mason tells him. “I’m good.”

It feels right to kiss him. It feels like an extension of something Mason already knew. They unearthed feelings in the South Pacific, they took time to materialize in the human way. Not the raw, visceral way they clung to each other in the sand. This now is something Mason knows. It feels like catching up to where they should be.

Conrad eases the tie out of Mason’s hair. She's happy to let him, sliding a hand up to cup the back of his neck. Conrad seems as happy to lean closer at her urging. Their lips shift together, easier than a first kiss should be. They already know each other in ways some people never do. They know when to breathe and when to meet. Fingers tangled in each other’s hair and clothes. It’s affirmation of something she already knew, a culmination of the best day Mason can remember in a long time.

“We should have gone for the single queen,” Conrad muses. His mouth looks nice kissed, an added swell around the thin line of his lips.

Mason smiles back, lacing her fingers with his. “I don’t know,” she says, “we always seem to find a way to make things work.”

Mason gets a chuckle of agreement, and a lick of Conrad’s lips. It’s the only prompt she needs to give his hand a tug and lead the way to the closest of the two beds.

***

Mason wakes up more relaxed and happier than she’s been in a long time. Her hair is a mess around her face, and her gray tank top hangs off one shoulder. She replaced the top but not her bra, currently strewn on the motel rug. She blinks at the empty side of the bed next to her.

With a stretch, Mason turns around. Conrad is already up, showered, and dressed, seated at the small table on the other side of the motel room. He’s sipping from a to-go cup with another in a cup tray on the table before him. The sight of the coffees makes Mason’s other senses turn on, the scent of the roast tickling her nose.

“God, you’re a morning person, aren’t you?” she laments.

Conrad grins and looks up from the papers he’s been going through. With a squint, Mason recognizes the manila folder of Monarch documents from yesterday. “Car is packed,” he says by way of answer. “I picked you up a coffee, but you’re welcome to sleep for a while too. Only fair after I did the same yesterday.”

Detangling herself from the bed sheets doesn’t sound fun, but the coffee smells too good to stay in bed. She pads out from under the blanket and joins Conrad at the table. In only a tank top and underwear, it’s gratifying to feel Conrad's eyes as she joins him.

Mason picks up one of the coffees and loops an arm around Conrad so she can look over his shoulder at the papers. He’s back on the picture of the lizard creature they call Godzilla. “Hell of a name, isn’t it?” she remarks.

“Name and everything else,” Conrad agrees. “Can’t say I love being a tracker in times like these. Some things are better off staying lost.”

It’s a sentiment Mason shares, but one that won’t stop either of them from picking up when Monarch calls. Mason gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as she sips from her to-go cup. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” she says. “Then, I’ll take you up on that sleeping shotgun offer.”

Conrad takes her hand from his shoulder and kisses her knuckles in reply. Mason warms. This feels comfortable and easy. More than it should, but she isn’t about to question anything.

Setting down her coffee, Mason grabs clean clothes and heads into the bathroom. Conrad isn’t rushing her, but she’ll pick up the pace anyway. They don’t have much time before Monarch comes calling, and the open road awaits.


End file.
